Fire & Ice
by let it live and die
Summary: Both are deathly, yet essential components used in order to survive. Both lethal, both mesmerising. Fire and ice are opposites, yet they correspond perfectly. The Girl on Fire verses the brutal, ice-cold Cato. That's why you're here now, right? You want to know the truth behind permanently scarring stories that you've heard so much about. Gradual Catoniss. A unique take on THG.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is my first Hunger Games fan fiction. I apologise for my errors. It's swaying to Everthorne slightly in the beginning, but I assure you, it's CATONISS! It's boring at first, I know, but when I take over, it will be far from the usual Catoniss – Kato, if you must – stuff that you read. I still have to work out the kinks in it, but, for now…**_

_***Clears throat* I'm nervous slightly. I know she would NEVER forget the reaping, but I forgot it (dumbass move) and wasn't in the mood to go back and change it, so I had Gale tell her. **_

_**Also, sorry if some things are off; I'm used to writing in third-person. This isn't as lovey as you'd expect from something that's labelled in the romance genre. I just cannot stand when fanfic Katniss forgets the world around her the moment she falls for a guy. It's so OOC. That's not what book Katniss would do! Book Katniss would stay level-headed – sort of – and not make a fuss over a boy. She'd allow her mind to wander for a few seconds before zoning back to reality. She doesn't fall in love with a ruthless murderer in five seconds flat! Hell, it took AGES for her to fall for a sweet kid like Peeta and it'll take even longer for her to love a Career.**_

_**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE HUNGER GAMES, FUCKER.**_

* * *

_They say that fire melts ice into water, but then water extinguishes the fire. _

Fire and ice…two suicidal elements, attempting to kill the other. Fire burns one to a hot, unrecognisable crispy demise as ice makes one frigid – inside and out – stopping the blood circulation, turning its victims blue.

Both are deathly, yet essential components used in order to survive. Both lethal, both mesmerising. Fire and ice are opposites…yet they fit together perfectly. So alike, so different…When they clash, the outcome is astonishingly unforgettable! Spectacular things can happen when they merge...

The Girl on Fire verses the bloody, brutal, ice-cold Cato.

That's why you're here now, right?

You want to know the truth behind permanently scarring stories that you've heard so much about. You're excited about the event that causes bloodshed and abuse to minors. That's alright, though. Just like the once-proud Capitol people.

But that's okay; I'll tell you the real-life events. You're a sick person to find this entertaining, but the world is sick a place…so who am I to judge?

The tale began during the 74th Annual Hunger Games and ended the next year, when Victors gathered together with the rebels of District 13, destroying the Capitol, giving everyone else – I included – a fresh start to live, to go outside their homes and smell the roses…

Once upon a time, there lived a sixteen year old girl named Katniss Everdeen who started it all. hat girl…was me.

* * *

I woke up early on that warm spring day. The sun was barely peeking out from behind the trees, indicating the start of a brand new day. The soft red-ish light cast down upon my face, to my irritation, and caused me to wake.

I moved the filthy, rotten Buttercup on the cold floor and off of the bed. He never ceased to humour me with his failed attempts at proving his immense loathe for my blood. It was all well and understandable, I'll admit, as I've tried to kill him several times.

He didn't hiss when I placed him away from a precious Prim who lay asleep next to my once-beautiful mother.

That cat had been the cause of several unnecessary grievances on my part. More mouths for me to feed and more characters to worry about. He kept out the rats and sometimes I'd toss him entrails of my game, he had stopped hissing at me.

Entrails, no hissing, it's the near the closest we've ever gotten to love.

I changed into my hunting clothes, which consisted of a thin cotton top and pants, dingy leather boots and my father's worn jacket. I braided my hair and twisted it into a cap. I took my game bag and slyly exited my home at the break of dawn, but not before taking a slice of cheese that Prim had left for me.

As I made my way to the fence, I could feel the goose bumps on my limbs. _It is the cold_, I told myself. It could not be anything else. When I reached the boundary-fence of District 12, I gracefully slid under the blunt-barbed fence.

My heart filled with contempt as my mind filled itself with the thoughts of the relaxing woods. I would have done anything to leave my home and move into the log-cabin my father built. I'd never go hungry. I could've caught game and found a source of drinking water from the lake. The only person stopping me was my sweet, little Prim.

Who would feed her if I was gone? My mother certainly wasn't in the right mental state.

I shook the thought out of my head as I heard Gale's velvety footsteps approach. "Catnip, I've come bearing you a gift!" He exclaimed in his deep, soothing voice. He reached his big hand out to me and held in front of me a small, delectable bread roll.

My eyes shimmered as I tried not to drool. "How…?" I asked, incapable of forming a proper sentence.

"I traded it for two squirrels this morning." He said nonchalantly, breaking it into to two equal halves and tossing one piece in my general direction. "The baker was feeling…generous." I caught it with both hands, greedily tearing off a large chunk in between my teeth, before remembering that I still had Prim's goat cheese. I spread some on my bread and gave the leftover cheese to Gale, who seemed pleased enough.

"Aren't you worried, Katniss?" He asked.

"Worried about what?" I drawled, redirecting his question lazily. "It's a beautiful day, we have a feast, and there isn't anything to fret about."

He looked at me with empathy. "Denial…" He whispered. "Today's the day of the reaping."

My heart caught in my throat and my face paled. "Prim…" Poor, innocent Primrose. I should have stayed and comforted her that morning. Today is her first reaping. Instead, I was selfishly sneaking off.

I made a pathetic attempt at fighting my tears. Catching my lip between my teeth and chewing it, defying my body's will to cry. I winced as the crimson blood gushed out and drabbled down my chin. I licked it; the copper taste was somehow edible enough.

My pretty Primrose Everdeen. I tried my best to protect the little girl from all harm, but this is one thing that I couldn't shelter her from. The Hunger Games was the raw, violent, blood-lusting death match that guaranteed one sole person a life of ease and luxury. The Hunger Games that ended the lives of twenty-three children.

I was then reassured by the thought of Prim's name being entered only _once_. One in a few thousands was a rare feat. Still, it was a possibility that I couldn't handle.

"It's alright to cry, Catnip," Gale spoke softly, wiping the salty tears off my cheeks. I shook my head at him. "Don't think about it," He advised. "I'm sorry for reminding you."

"No, no!" I said. "I would be stupid to try to forget it. I need to be alert."

He nodded, unsure of how to reply. "Let's hunt; we don't have much time on our hands."

"Fine," I agree.

Over the next few hours we travelled through the promising woodlands and happened to poach several rabbits and even a duck! Gale and I picked a few strawberries and assorted fruits and herbs, before making our way to the Hob. We traded with Greasy Sae, the butcher's wife and the baker. Even the mayor's daughter, Madge, paid us for a crate of freshly-picked strawberries.

Gale led me to the doorstep of my home, before embracing me in his warm arms. "You'll be safe, Katniss."

I looked at him with initial fear registered on my face. "You can't promise me that." I said before leaving him there to contemplate my words as I went inside.

I heard him mumble out, "Wear something pretty."

I was greeted with a sob as I entered my home. There lay Prim on the floor, crying. "What if I get picked?" She asked. My mother just shook her head.

"You won't get picked." I assured her. I bent down and cradled her in my arms. "Shh…your name's only in there once. They're never going to pick you, I promise on my life."

She threw her skinny arms around me. "Oh, Katniss…"

I hugged her reassuringly. "Come," I said with a sad smile. "It's getting let, we'd better dress up. After the reaping, we can have a feast!"

Her face lit up. "Really?"

"Of course we can. Gale and I have the right amount of game. We can all have a feast together." I smiled. "Let's get ready."

My mother filled the tub with lukewarm water and I bathed. I dressed in my mother's old, soft blue dress as her fingers worked quickly, twisting my braid on top of my head and fixing it into a delicate hairstyle. I took a good look at my eyes, stone-hard, steel grey. I saw fear and anxiety. I twisted my face into a mask of indifference, a tedious look playing.

As we left the house, I tuck in Prim's shirt, which reminded me of a duck tail. I closed the door with a heavy heart, hoping to see it again soon. I walked the streets of District 12, silently reminiscing about the memories I've had in this pathetic excuse for a district. I ushered Prim to the twelve year old section, before making my way to the line of sixteen year old girls.

I silently made a prayer in my head as the mayor gave a speech on the history of Panem – the same speech as he does every year. Then, he read out the names of the two Victors from District 12; one of them was alive, Haymitch Abernathy, the town drunk. I've once heard from Gale that he bathed in alcohol every day.

My head began to spin as Effie Trinket trotted on the stage with the biggest smile I've ever seen. She was dressed in a ridiculous, glittering, ruffled spring-green suit with oddly shaped silver high-heels. Her hair was in a bright pink perm, and resting atop her head was a massive purple bow.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to select the lucky boy and girl who will partake in the fabulous 74th Annual Hunger Games!" She chirped, clapping her hands together – which was when I got a view of her glittering gold nails. "As usual, ladies first!"

She strutted to the large, clear bowl, dug her hand around and quickly pulled out a small scrap of paper. I bit my lip; my name couldn't have been picked!

It wasn't.

The name that peeled off her slimy pink lips wasn't mine! I was overcome with relief, until I registered the name she read…

It was Primrose Everdeen.

Her face dropped into an unrecognisable look of fear and repulse. I heard a hoarse, frantic yell emit from the audience as Prim makes her way to the grinning Effie. My throat was sore and rough when I realised that I was the person letting out a psychotic scream.

"I volunteer!" I shrieked desperately, pleading to Effie, of all people… "I volunteer as tribute!" The next thing happened in a blur. Prim cried and begged for me to stay as Gale carried her to my mother. A blob of white – a Peacekeeper – grabbed my arm and hauled me onto the stage.

Effie Trinket trotted over to me and pushed me towards the microphone. "What's your name, darling?" She enquired.

I took a deep breath. "Katniss Everdeen." I mumbled into the microphone.

She grinned, baring her brilliant pinkish-white teeth. "I'll bet my buttons that that was your sister! Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?"

I said nothing. I blinked several times, shying away the tears brimming in my eyes. I dared to look at Prim. Instead, I looked up at the sun defiantly.

"Let's give a hearty round of applause for the brave girl!" Effie squeaked out.

I will _never_ forget what happened next.

No one clapped for me, but instead, every member of the audience kissed the three middle fingers of their left hands and held it up to me.

I resisted the urge to sob. I had to be strong; stoic even. I couldn't cry, not in the face of the enemy.

I nearly passed out on the strong stench of whisky in the air, as Haymitch Abernathy slung one shaky arm around my shoulders. "She's got spunk!" He declared, looking fixedly into the camera lens. "More than you!" He told them. "More than you!" With that, he fell limp off the stage, his mind temporarily clogged with all the alcohol consumption.

I barely heard the name of the male tribute, but watched as the blond-haired boy mounted the stage. I held back a gasp when I realised that it was none other than Peeta Mellark!

We were never close friends or anything, but I owed him everything and then some. I held his deep blue eyes in in mine. Effie spoke several praises to the Capitol and thanked everyone for joining her that day. She beamed at them all.

"Congratulations to this year's District 12 tributes: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!" She hissed on her S's. I remember thinking it rather annoying at the time. "Shake hands, you two." She murmured to us. Peeta grasped my small hand and gave it a quick shake. He smiled sadly at me. I didn't return his smile, just glared coldly at him.

I couldn't befriend my competitor. It would be weakness.

We were ushered off the stage – by four Peacekeepers – and into the Justice Building.

I'd only been there once before the reaping. I received a medal in honour of my father. That was when I'd first seen Gale, his father died in the explosion too. I remembered seeing his heavily-pregnant mother, looking directly at him with glossy eyes and two toddlers in both hands.

Peeta and I were escorted into two separate rooms. It was luxurious, with velvety seats, – I knew it was velvet because my mom had a dress with a collar made of that stuff – lush carpeting, exquisite crystal light fixtures – they're called chandeliers or something like that – intricate paintings in golden frames and the most delicate jewelled ornaments.

The windows were hidden behind the raw silken curtains, everything was dark and the decorations held a mysteriously illuminating glow.

I saw a flash of blonde and turned to see my mother and Prim crying. I pulled them both in for a hug.

"Mom," I said sternly. "You can't leave again. Prim needs you."

"I won't, I'm—"

"Promise me, mom." I said.

She nodded. "I promise."

"Prim, I don't want you to sign up for tesserae. You can make money off of Lady's dairy products and healing. Mom, if you show Gale the correct picture, he will collect all the right herbs for you. He'll also bring you game." I instructed.

"Katniss…" Prim piped up softly.

"Yes?"

"You can win." My eyes bulged out in surprise. "You're a hunter, you know how to survive. Promise you'll win?"

"I…" I started.

"Please, Katniss, promise me?" She looked at me with hopeful eyes and I couldn't break her heart.

I cleared my throat. "I promise you that I will try my best to win these Games and come home to you."

The door cracked open and a Peacekeeper took them away. I waited impatiently for my next visitor, who – to my surprise – was the baker, Peeta's father.

He gave me a packet filled with delicious-looking biscuits. I could see that he'd just finished up with his son as his face was red and puffy, showing that he made no attempt to hide his grief. He didn't say much, and walked out when his time was over.

My next visitor was Madge, the mayor's daughter. Her voice was quick and urgent. "They allow you to wear a token from your district." She said, fiddling with something in her pocket. "I want you to wear this…" She said, carefully dropping her pin in my hand. It was a solid gold circle and a mockingjay inside it.

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and hurried out the door, leaving me bewildered. Cookies, a pin, I was getting all kinds of gifts that day. My thoughts were broken as an intimidating male figure barged in.

Gale.

"Katniss," He boomed. "You can win. Do everything you've learnt. It's just like hunting."

"But they're people, not animals."

He sighed. "What's the difference, really?" I was horrified by his tone. He seemed to have noticed. "They're after your blood, too, Katniss. If you want to get home to Prim, you have to kill. Kill or be killed!"

I gulped. That was what I was afraid of. Who was I to end another's life? To kill someone's child? I was no one. Unfortunately, I was placed into a situation where such was mandatory in order for me to live.

"You have to find your bow and arrows. It's your special ability, your defence. Find them, hide in a tree and slyly kill the others off. You're a hunter, never forget that."

I nodded. "Yes, but—" I was cut off by a burning sensation in my stomach and a tingling feeling on my lips. Gale was kissing me.

I was stationary. Gale refused to stop. His hands travelled to my waist, despite my reaction, and he pulled me closer – if possible – to him. My eyes dropped and felt my arms sneak to his neck. I moved my lips against his and he smiled.

He pulled away breathlessly. "I've wanted to do that for so many years…" He mumbled, cupping my cheek. He leaned in again.

I then realised how foolish I was behaving. I was about to face my demise and all I could possibly do was kiss a boy I've never seen in a romantic way. How incredibly daft! But, at the time – even though I wasn't one for romance – it was the first, and probably, last kiss I'd ever have with a boy.

"Just remember, Katniss, I—" I'll never know what he was going to say, as at that moment, two peacekeepers had decided pluck him out of the room.

Within a matter of seconds, I was left alone in the strange room, attempting helplessly to orient myself in this whirlwind of life. I've said it before, but it was the only thing running through my mind: _I can't cry._ I bit my lip and glared into the light fixtures to keep the brimming tears from leaking.

It's never easy to be chosen, to be called. In the end, I had a very slight chance of survival. I then began to process Gale's words – before the semi-awkward kiss – and I realised that I shouldn't be counted out of the Games because I was from District 12! I was a surviver…a hunter. My instincts guided me and kept me safe…I was as a part of those Games as any other tribute.

* * *

I was pulled out of the rich, peculiar room and taken to the platforms, where I was supposed to give my district a final goodbye. I sucked in a scream that was threatening to burst out. It was hard not to cry, but it had to be done, I couldn't be weak.

Peeta, on the other hand, had a puffy, swollen face, a red nose and bloodshot eyes. At the time I had assumed that he was going for the _'weakling-tribute-who-turns-out-to-be-vicious-and-blood-thirsty' _angle, but who would believe that? He was broad and had a stocky build. He could have cried out a river, yet he would still be a considerable threat.

We boarded the high-end Capitol train and it took off at an alarmingly quick pace. Effie Trinket escorted me to a large bedroom and told me to change into anything I want. When she left the magnificent room, I allowed the tears to spill from my eyes.

They came down in sheets, pouring down my cheeks and resting on the bodice of the worn dress. I sobbed until my eyes were dried and there weren't any tears left to shed.

I then washed my face clean, ridding myself from the swollen eyes and blocked nose. I stripped out of the dress and into soft cotton underwear, a sea-green shirt, black pants and soft black shoes.

Entering the main compartment, I held a foul stench in my nose caused by the sharp smell of beer in the air. It meant that Haymitch – our mentor – was intoxicated heavily. Effie was blathering on about manners to him in his oblivious form. It was rather humorous… even I had to admit.

Her fixed glare turned into a warm smile as she saw me enter the compartment. "Oh, Katharine, darling—"

I sneered. "My name's Katniss."

She looked at me in surprise with a frown, before quickly grinning – her lips were twitching. "_Katniss_, darling, we were awfully worried about you. Take a seat next to Peeta and enjoy dinner."

I was hurdled towards the table and practically fell into the soft, tan leather chair. The intricately carved wooden back was pressed forcefully to my back. Effie Trinket had an odd form of revenge.

There were many delectable staples in front of me and it took a long time to choose. I decided to take two legs of white meat lathered in a spicy marinade, four spoonfuls of salty mashed potatoes and a beefy, savoury stew with rice.

I scarfed down my food gratefully. If there was one good thing about the Capitol, it would definitely be the amazing sustenance. It was surprisingly comforting.

Peeta was the first to utter out what we were both thinking. "Haymitch," He started with a slight smile. "What should our strategies for the Games be?"

"Stay alive." He barked out with laughter.

Peeta's eyebrows knitted together into a look of pure fury as we gazed in each other's eyes knowingly. Within a matter of seconds he reacted to Haymitch's words before hadtily punching him across the jaw.

I couldn't hold in my surprise and gasped. Haymitch wasn't alert and dropped to the ground with a harsh laughter. He coughed and coughed and vomited on the carpet. He passed out soon after.

Peeta looked at him with remorse. The boy with the bread had tamed. I helped him to hoist up the foul-smelling man. He was surprisingly heavy for such a thin fellow. From what I've heard, he used to be broad. His excessive drinking habits must have stopped all growth and he's been too drunk to build back his once-grand physique.

I helped Peeta lay him on his bed. I took once glance at myself on the smooth crystal-like mirror and wretched. I was covered – head to toe – in Haymitch's bile. I would be the last person to be called high-maintenance, but even I found the stench utterly repulsive.

Peeta offered to bathe him and I fled silently and swiftly to my room, trailing to the bathroom. I cleansed myself of the mess and took a warm bath. I stripped down to my underwear and slid my lithe body under the silken duvet covers of the large, warm bed. It was so much nicer than the one I had back home. That one had broken springs and the mattress was torn.

I remember staying up that whole night, looking at the ceiling with a vacant expression. I tried to think about my family and Gale and what my being murdered in the Games would mean, but my mind was clogged by the peculiar desire to remain still and sound. My façade of bleakness had seemed to slip itself in my brain and wire itself there.

I thought nothing.

* * *

_**Please review**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**My mom's wedding is soon – today – but I can't sleep, so…yeah. Pre-wedding jitter, insomnia, idk. She thinks I'm sleeping right now – I feel so…defiant. Those bitches have no shit on me. I won't be able to update for a while, as I'll be staying with my uncle for two weeks and he has poor wi-fi connections. Anyway, this is just a filler chapter. I pre-write most of my stories before I post them, but I'm still at chapter 3 here.**_

_**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE HUNGER GAMES**_

* * *

I laid on the cool metal table, nude with nothing covering my private regions, not even a cloth.

I squirmed in pain as a freakish woman with aqua hair and gold tattoos harshly ripped off my leg hair using a piping hot, semi-liquid concoction and a thin strip of paper.

"Sorry," She piped up. "You're just _so-o-o_ hairy!" I rolled my eyes at the vanity-struck woman. "One more piece and we're finished!"

I braced myself for the searing anguish of _hot-waxing_ when I felt a sharp sting on my leg – probably worse than that of a Tracker Jacker. The woman – her name was Venia, I've learnt – brought a swath of the white cloth covered my DNA before me.

"It wasn't that horrible, was it?" asked a plump, green-skinned woman. She stared at me with slight amusement in her eyes. I could feel her cold, yet soft fingers moving vigorously as she lathered scented cooling lotions on my whole frame.

A man, with a bright orange mop atop his head, was staring at my face with strong, unbroken concentration as he pulled and plucked at my eyebrows with a tiny metal tool. That process – it's called tweezing, I believe – was painful, too.

"We might have to hose her down again before we take her to Cinna." He muttered.

Venia nodded. "I agree." I was disturbed by those three for a short while. _Hose her down? _I was certainly no animal. I was wild, untamed even, but to put me in the same context as one would to an animal was unacceptable.

The plump woman, Octavia, shook her head. "She's pretty. I think Cinna is ready for her."

The three of them left the room without uttering another word.

I sat there in the brightly lit room for no less than an hour before my stylist walked – strutted, actually – into the room with his bright eyes glistening with subtle excitement. He was surprisingly…normal for a Capitol citizen.

He was clad in black denim pants, a black top and a black cashmere jersey. His eyes were framed by the gold eyeliner he wore – it was the only bit of make-up Cinna used. His hair seemed to be its natural brown colour. He was definitely new. The stylists were usually old and worn, their over-exaggerated features tainted in bright magentas and neon-colours.

"Stand up." He said to me simply in his straight-cut, clear voice. I did as I was told to do so and watched, abashed, as he stared at me with immense concentration. His stare was so fixed that nothing, not even an earthquake, could distract his strict focus on my body.

It was particularly uncomfortable and I felt myself shrink into my very own being. I dared to tell him about my prudence. Haymitch informed me about the stylists. Quite frankly, his stories and myths managed to install a slight fear for them in my mind.

"What do they do out in District 12?" He asked. His face held no emotion.

I cleared my throat. "W-we mine coal."

"And what do we do with coal?" He asked again, offering me a slight smile_. Naked and covered in silver coal dust for sure…_I thought bitterly. I grimaced.

Cinna spoke with a devious smile. "We burn it."

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::: :: : : : :

I was on fire.

Bright synthetic flames graced my body. I was fitted into a black outfit that clung tightly to every curve and contortion of my body. It covered most of me, leaving my fingers and face bare. A looming, blazing cape was donned over my shoulders and a fiery headdress placed atop my head.

I looked magnificent. I was the Girl on Fire. I was no longer Katniss Everdeen.

The flames represented my melting out of my old mould and into a new one. A new one, who – I hadn't realised at the time – was a powerful figure, stronger, yet irrevocably damaged.

I was dizzy and my heart was drumming at a rapid pace against my chest. My body was stiff and sore.

I held onto Peeta's steady hand for reassurance. We raised our intertwined hands and, in turn, received a phenomenal response.

My mouth was twitched up into a pleasant, slightly excited, façade. I stretched out my hands and waved at the hyperventilating Capitol citizens.

They were chanting my name like a prayer. "Katniss! Katniss!" People were throwing various items at me. A bracelet with a large, exotic gemstone was pelted against my hipbone. I caught a soft pink rose in my hand and blew a kiss in the general direction of the giver.

The people around the area were fawning, reaching out to grab my kisses as if they were real. They loved me. They had even bothered to find out my name from the program. I was an object of admiration, a porcelain doll, even.

"She's on fire!" they gasped. "By Snow, she's alight!" they spoke mainly about _my_ glorious state, not Peeta's. He may have been wearing the same outfit, but he was nothing like me. He held no fire in his eyes. No hatred in his pure, perfect heart. He was innocent and had an untainted soul, brimming with warmth and kindness.

Nothing like me.

I snuck a few precious moments to steal glances as my opponents. All twenty-two of them were all staring directly at Peeta and me fixatedly. They weren't expecting that from District 12. We were the inbred ones. The gum underneath their shoes.

The look that the District 2 boy was shooting me was unnerving. He was trying to intimidate me. His eyes were like icicles and swords, plunging deep within me, fuelling my fury. He smirked at me, taunting me. I felt myself wince slightly.

I turned my gaze and directed it at the citizens, grinning at them with a large smile that failed to meet my eyes. I vowed to avenge myself against the brutal male.

He looked magnificent, I had to admit. A vicious gladiator in golden armour. It fit his large, bulky frame perfectly, baring his corded arms. I thought he looked quite handsome for a blood-lusting beast.

The chariot pulled to a steady stop and I reluctantly released my tight, unflinching grip on Peeta's hand. Our surging flames were flickering brightly against the dark night. We took away screen time from other tributes without any doubts.

All I could think of at the time was Prim's reaction. Not my mother's, not Gale's, but _Prim's_. What did she make of my flames? Was she worried about me burning to death? Or was she cheering me for being defiant against the usual, bland District 12 ceremonial costumes? So many petty questions never answered, nor asked.

President Snow welcomed us to the Capitol, relishing at our obvious discomfort and fear from the comfort of his overhead balcony. He seemed rather average for a Capitol citizen, the president no less – despite his immaculate suits and fine grooming – but when you looked at him in real-life, you could tell that his face was genetically altered, for he had large, unnaturally puffy blood-red lips. He smelled like roses…and poison.

He announced the events that were to occur during that unbearable week.

That day, a Monday, was the Tribute Parade. The next day would be a morning of training and improvising our strategies for the Games. On Wednesday, we had to prepare for our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Thursday was a day of strict training. Friday's schedule bared slight difference from Tuesday's, except that there were evaluations. Saturday was the day of the interview. Finally, Sunday was the day of the Games.

We climbed off our chariots and I quickly acknowledged that the glorious flames have died down; leaving me in an outfit that matched the sky overhead.

_**:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::**_

My fingers were aching. The rough rope managed to taint the tips of my numb fingers to a reddish-pink shade.

I was spending a rainy Tuesday morning in the training centre, hoping to hone my rope-tying skills. No, really, there wasn't anything else I was allowed to do. Haymitch instructed me to stay at the basic survival stations. My hands were just throbbing to use the silver bow and sheath of razor-sharp arrows.

It was fairly boring twisting knots – although I have perfected my noose – and I already knew how to construct a temporary shelter and start a fire. For the time-being, my fingers retreated back to my ropes and I twisted and tied them without much effort, glancing at my fellow tributes.

The boy from District 2 and I were playing a little game within the Games. It began that morning, when I first entered the training room. Our eyes would lock and he tried to intimidate me with his viscous glowers and his eyes like icicles.

I didn't want to be treated in that manner; I deserved my fair share of respect, as well. I was not the _scum_ they thought me to be. I was not the filth. My eyes burnt bright with rage as I held his powerful gaze with my own.

I was interrupted by Peeta, his light eyes blocking my own from my hell-bound opponent. "Katniss," He said shyly, "Are you alright? That brute from 2 looks murderous."

"He's a career, Peeta, of course he's murderous. He'll drain us of our blood the second he gets the chance."

Peeta sighed. "I'm just…worried…about you."

"You should be worried about yourself, not me. After all, when it comes down to the end, it's all for themselves. That's when things get selfish."

He nodded uneasily. "Yes, but do we have an alliance? A current alliance?"

I hesitated before replying. "I can't afford to worry about you. I'm sorry, Peeta," Where would I be if he broke a leg? If I mourned his death? It would be a futile effort on my part to even try to stay alive if he ruined my achievements. In that scenario, I would wish that I ended my life at the bloodbath.

"I understand." he told me. "Do you really intend on making it to the final two?"

"No," I said. "I plan on winning."

* * *

"Sweetheart, you are hopeless." Haymitch said, exasperated after many hours of trial and error. He was trying to find an angle for me to improvise upon for the interview. "I give up on you, you are a hateful child. You don't even offer a smile."

At that I scowled. We've spent at least for hours searching for a tactic. I wasn't funny, sexy or mysterious. I apparently had some personality disorder – according to both Haymitch and Effie – that prevents me from being happy.

How could I be happy when I was thrown into a death match?

Haymitch appeared to look past the blurs, the fears and the horror of the situation. He drowned out his sorrows through the whiskey. It was his…saviour, in a sense. I needed a saviour, too.

"Sweetheart, I know you hate the Capitol with a passion, but you can't afford to ruin this. If you defy them, speak one ill word against them, all your woes will become tenfold." He said with sober eyes. "I speak from experience."

"I understand." Just barely, though.

* * *

_**I am thrilled with the reviews I received and I thank each of you dearly for allotting the time to read and review. I know that there isn't a tribute ball, and I've been debating against myself to slot it in or not, but in the end I decided against it. It isn't as the book states, and therefore it will not be! Oh and I also wanted to put an indoor swimming-pool in the training centre…should I, or shouldn't I? Yet another confliction. I truly am my own personal paradox (bipolar). TELL MEH WHAT TO DO! **_

_**Constructive criticism is most certainly welcome, but it doesn't mean I'll necessarily listen to you :). I only accept it if it helps improve my grammar or if my characters are OOC. Otherwise I'll probably just shut you out. I don't like constructive criticism in general, though.**_

_**Excuse my rants, I just have a lot of opinions.  
Goodnight, fuckers… **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Oh my gosh! Can I just give a shout out to **_** 111 **_**? She is a LIFE-SAVER! Good God, I had no idea it was all repeated and I just want to say THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU BEAUTIFUL PERSON! I owe you BIG TIME for noticing what I couldn't! Once again, THANK YOU, 111 :)**_

_**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE HUNGER GAMES!**_

_**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: **_

Thursday morning indicated a fresh, bright day lying ahead. I savoured the extra five minutes of rest I've stolen and cocoon myself into the blankets. The general air had been somewhat pleasant, with beautiful birds soaring past my window. They were fortunate. They had liberty. They knew no true harm, ate and slept as they pleased and married for love. They had freedom to sweep through the skies during the dusty sunset and watch it fade to starry darkness.

My bones were relaxed. I moved for a few sends to rearrange my pillow. After repeatedly dozing off and sparking back to life, I sat up, spread my hands out and arched my back as I let out a wide yawn.

I stretched my body as I got out of bed and felt my feet fall on the cold, marble flooring. I ruffled my hair before entering the bathroom.

The gleaming taps seemed to shine in my face. I stripped out of my clothes and walked straight towards the shower – it's like a massive glass box – and skimmed my fingers over control panel. I altered the shower settings to one jet – tens seemed a bit much –, hot water and pine scented oils, before pressing my index finger firmly on the 'start' button.

I gasped as a warm splay of water fell harshly from a large, squared overhead jet. The water coated my body within mere seconds and I was left, drenched, with barely enough time to react. It took minutes, but I eventually darted back to my comfort zone. I sighed as the rejuvenating liquid ensnared my mind and cleansed my body free from grime.

"Katniss!" I heard a shrill voice call. "Where are you, dear?" I didn't reply. I wanted to have my moment alone. I could very much so be late for training, as I wasn't allowed to use the weapons anyways.

At that moment, I heard the bathroom door creak open, and the clicking of Effie's shoes against the tiles. She didn't seem to care that I was in the shower. I didn't make a fuss either.

"We must keep to schedule, darling! Please, make haste and be one your way down for breakfast after you've changed. Cinna's set out an outfit for you; it's on your bed!" She shrieked. "Punctuality is rather important; it's a form of showing respect and its great manners!"

With a groan, I switched off the shower and wrapped a fluffy blue against my dripping-wet form. Effie instructed me to brush my teeth with minty, refreshing toothpaste. I've never used toothpaste before. Back before the Games, we had to use ashes and peels of citrus fruits to try and perfect our smiles.

* * *

Back in the training centre, we were gifted with a new survival tool: a swimming pool. Apparently it was built with money donated from a 'generous' group of sponsors. We were all required to test it out on the first day it was available.

The swimsuits they gave us were scandalous! Backless, skin-tight, red pieces of nylon stitched together to form an indecent form of swimwear. My legs and bust were visible and it was highly abashing. Thin straps held up what was concealed. I feared immensely that they would tear with little movement.

I dragged myself over to the pool; my towel clung tightly around my body. "Everdeen," A voice boomed. "You can't possibly swim in a towel! Shrug off that hideous thing and wait for your instructor!" Atala, Head Trainer warned.

Closing my eyes, I let go of the towel and I knew that my face was flooded to a blood red colour with embarrassment. I hung the towel on a hook and walked towards the pool area with absolute humiliation.

To my relief, the boys and the girls had separate pools. All the girls were clad in the same disgraceful bathing suit as I. I took my place, next to the small girl from District 11 and felt myself empathise for her. Her tiny body was being exploited and I clenched my fists in rage at the fact that they would stoop so low to embarrass a young child.

The District 1 girl seemed to be pleased with her limited selection of clothing and pushed her chest out at such an impossible angle that I had to hold in a laugh. The District 2 girl looked irritated by the itchy outfit and glared at the gleaming pool ahead. District 4 didn't seem to mind being placed in the swimming attire and stared proudly ahead – probably glad to be near the chlorine-infested waters.

The rest of the girls looked as afraid and anxious as I was, fidgeting uncomfortably. What stood out from them was the fact that Foxface's fiery hair clashed terribly with the bright red costume.

I held one advantage over most of these girls: I could swim.

I wouldn't go as far as comparing myself to District 4 Careers, but I was close enough.

Our swimming coach, Iris, taught us the different swimming tactics with much ease. I excelled in many, along with the Careers. In the end we were categorised for our swimming talents.

"Alright," Iris shrilled. "Our top swimmers are…District 2, District 4 and lastly, District 12."

It took me a few seconds before registered her words. I gulped. I was disobeying Haymitch! He had wanted me to conceal my abilities. But it was far too late for that. There was no need for me to act then. Then, I could've proven my worth. I could've displayed my talents to the Careers. I would show them that I was a competitor, that I was someone to fear.

The cattish female Careers gave me seething looks of disapproval. I realised then that the District 1 girl had not been picked. I had _beaten a Career_. That wasn't good. Weak or not, it's the ultimate stupidity to underestimate one. Oh, I was in for the worst, then…

"Okay, my stars!" Iris smiled. "I have a treat for you three mermaids!" What's a mermaid? I still haven't the foggiest… "You are going to be competing in a race against three boys!"

I gave a quiet shriek. I knew that they were the Careers. What's worse is that I was clad in a pathetic excuse for swimwear. I was so exposed! It would be downright mortifying!

"The rest of you can go shower and change in your usual training outfits and get back to it! Good luck!" Iris curtseyed and blew a kiss in their general direction. "You three should come to the boys' pool!" She motioned for us to follow her, bobbing her seaweed-like hair.

The grin plastered on her face was maniacal. For a moment I strongly believed that we were being led to our deaths. That Iris was leading us to private torture chambers where they would punish us for being filth from the districts and slash our skins for each scream.

Instead, we were shown a large, wet room – quite like the one I was in before – with changing stalls and in the middle a large, clean pool. The water was crystal-like and the reflection of the multi-coloured lighted presented it with an iridescent glow, making it look more like a decoration than a life preserving tool.

I took a moment to size-up my competitors. Without any doubt, all three male Careers were there, basking in their glory - somewhat. I noticed that they were adorned in nothing but black speedos which were making me feel rather bashful.

The District 1 boy was not very impressive. I had expected better from a Career. He looked like he couldn't even lift the girl from eleven. The District 4 boy was not even worth looking at. The only thing that differentiated him from the District 3 boy was that he had green eyes and neatly cropped coppery curls. The District 2 boy was so broad and burly! He could kill me in seconds. I made a mental note to avoid him at all costs.

I looked back down at my feet as the male swim coach, Neon, informed us about the race. It was three laps. It was a process of elimination, organized by gender. The last male and female to finish the three laps would leave the room and so forth until there's a final four laps between the last male and female remaining.

I took my place on the starting block and awaited Neon's signal. "Five, four, three, two…GO!"

I leaped off the block and submerged into the sparkling pool water. I propelled my arms and legs with as much force as I could muster. The chlorine was finding its way in my eyes, nose and ears, only adding to the irritation. I felt my finger brush against the wall, rotated my body and swam hastily to the other side. My braid hit against my back, whipping me with a forceful sting. As I excelled to the third lap, I accelerated my pace and splashed roughly against the wet surface. I could hear Iris chanting for me. I must've been winning. As my hands clenched the wall, the whistle sounded.

My pushed myself out of the pool and sucked in a deep breath, greedily stealing the oxygen and streaming it into my lungs.

A strong arm grabbed my wrist and pulled me upwards. "Congratulations to the District 12 female, Katniss Everdeen, for finishing second!" Iris cheered.

"Our four competitors are… District 2's male, District 4's male, District 4's female and District 12's female! We'll allot you a five-minute rest!" Neon called.

"Marvel, Clove, I am sorry to inconvenience you two, but please leave the room and continue with your usual training after you've dressed. Thank you!" Iris waved them out with a big, flashing grin, and then invited the District 4 girl – whose name I've learnt was Marina – and I for quick drink of water. I nearly declined, but decided against it. I may have had some time to scope out that Marina character.

I walked towards the cooler with unsteady feet. Isis handed me a small glass of strawberry flavoured water. I've never drank anything like that before. It was sweet to my tongue, sugary with a sort of fruity twist. It was far too flavoured than my liking. Just for the sake of my fame I went along with it.

I looked around the area and found the District 2 boy staring at me. I gulped. He looked as if he were walk towards me and slowly slice my limbs into diced meat. Once again, continuing with our 'game within the Games', I met his stare. He smirked slightly and I scowled before jerking my head away, my wet hair flying in my face.

The District 4 girl, Marina, spoke in a hushed tone, "I rather enjoyed this swim! Wouldn't you agree, Katniss?"

I looked up from my drink, slightly confused. "Yes, it was…lovely." I agreed. I was irritated my by her efforts at banter, but I knew better than to challenge a Career.

"So, Marina, I hear Finnick Odair is your mentor this year!" Iris interrupted. Quite frankly I was relieved. "That must be hot—I mean…uh, nice."

Marina sucked in her breath. "Well, actually—"

Iris' cheeks were a deep red shade. "Does he have any time to discuss your…strategies with me?" she said, breathless. "I mean, if he wants to, that is…"

Marina gave a small giggle. "Oh, no! He's not our mentor this year! He's at home with An—"

A whistle sounded through the large room. Neon hollered at the four of us to mount our starting blocks and prepare ourselves. Once again, on his mark, I sped into the waters, swimming as fast as I could. Before I could pass second lap, the whistle sounded.

"Districts Two and Twelve, you're both eliminated. Please change your into your training gear and continue with your day. You're dismissed." Neon said.

This is where District 2 and I parted to change. As required, I shook his large hand and we walked our separate ways. I kept thinking that that was the hand that was going to end my time on this planet and those menacing eyes would be the last thing I see before I died.

I knew then that he had to be my kill.

* * *

_**Well, sort-of Catoniss there :p  
Oh, and the competition was unnecessary, I just like it'd be fun and it would encourage them to swim faster. **_

_**I APOLOGISE FOR THE LOW STANDARDS OF THIS CHAPTER! THIS IS SORT OF A FILLER CHAPTER. THE NEXT ONE WILL BE BETTER! **_

_**I thank you in advance for the reviews.**_

_**PS. My dad's wife's (my step-mommy) name is Marina**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**I'm sorry for the long wait; I swear I will never happen again. You can now expect a bi-monthly (or weekly, if I get lucky) update. I had a terrible, terrible case or writers doubt. I've been spending two months trying to make this one chapter as good as possible. I feel horrible and I hope you can forgive me. **_

_**See that gorgeous cover picture I have? **_**CATONISSXOFOREVER**_** made it. Go to **_**HER **_**if you need any covers for your stories. She gives you everything you ask for and more. She's quick, too. Remember **_**'catonissxoforever'**_**! **_

_**TITLE: Arriane's Stupid Fanfiction Blog  
URL: .com Go follow me for story stats, random Catoniss stuff and even shout-outs. **_

* * *

_Leave all your love and your longing behind  
You can't carry it with you if you want to survive_

* * *

I sat anxiously outside the Evaluation Room. I twiddled thumbs idly and bounced my left knee. Pulling in a collective breath, I exhaled after thirty-two seconds.

I bit my lip harshly, splitting it. That was when, surely, I entered the hell-bound eternity of reality. I had to use my _façade_. Weakness was no option. I had to get back home to my precious Prim. She wouldn't survive without me. Even though she had Gale and my mother, she wouldn't grow up to be the wonderful young woman I knew she would be.

Closing my eyes with determination, I reopened them, feeling as if I really were on fire. Like my steely eyes held bright embers, glowering and destroying those who crossed me. I felt power. The girl on fire's flames had been refuelled.

"Calling: Everdeen, Katniss, District 12. Please report to the Evaluation Room immediately."

I rose from my seat with poise. I remembered what Cinna had instructed: shoulders back and chin up.

Only adding to my confidence, the metal doors automatically parted for me. Stepping into the room with a swell of false pride and a sincere scowl, I felt my being lower at the sight in front of me.

Feasting and mingling, the gamemakers were oblivious to my presence. I dropped an array of daggers on the solid, tiled floor. I watched the gamemakers piqued faces as the knives clattered to the ground.

Holding their attention, I made a beeline to the archery tools. I carefully traced my index finger along the bow, savouring its sweet curve. The delicate arrows were beautifully hand-crafted. The tips were razor sharp and held a fascinating silvery glint in the light.

Picking up the bow, I slid the arrow into position and stood in an expert's stance. Drawing back the arrow, I felt something different. Nevertheless, I let go.

I missed.

I've never missed a target since I was fourteen. I've always shot my squirrel through the left eye, never missing once. Not even when they were on the move. I looked like a perfect amateur standing there with my arrow neglected on the ground, next to the dummy.

I looked at the discarded arrow with confusion. I grunted. Picking up a new arrow, I slid it into the correct place, taking a few precious moments to familiarise myself with the contraption that now felt foreign in my hands. My eyes trained on the target, shoulders back, breath in, legs apart and poised perfectly. I drew back the arrow.

I let go and watched as it soared gracefully into oblivion. My requirements were met with a loud _thud_ as sharp metal collided with the thin rubbery coating of the wooden dummy. I skewered its heart. To prove that that was no a 'lucky shot', I rolled forward and severed a rope that held a sandbag for boxing and the bag tore open as it hit the ground.

With a grin, I displayed more of my superb archery talents. Shooting a dummy and a prop was not thrilling enough, so I shot a fine arrow with a slim, tapered body and a sharp, lethal head into a large light fixture. It was magnificent. There was a shower of golden sparks.

Smiling widely at my achievements, I whipped my head around to try and read the gamemakers reactions.

The flock of gamemakers who were clustering for my attention earlier seemed to be more intrigued by a roasted pig than my ability with the weaponry. I was being upstaged by a dead, roasted pig with a crimson apple in its mouth. My face heated up.

An idea sparked in my mind. Quickly placing another arrow in position with the bow, I let it fly at the gamemakers, aiming for the pig next to the Head Gamemaker's head. I shot the juicy red apple out of the pig's mouth, spearing it into a wall right next to Seneca Crane. A plump man fell into a punch bowl.

They all turned to me with looks of shock.

Much to their dismay, I curtseyed. "Thank you for your..._consideration_." Dropping the silver bow on ground beneath me, I walked out of the room with a small swell of pride.

I paused. A warning bell rang in my mind, _what have I done?_

I ruined all hope of survival. They'd kill me off during the bloodbath, I thought. No, I was too popular. All I knew at the time is that my death would be painful.

Prim! They had seen me volunteer for her. They knew she was precious to me. They all witnessed me volunteer for her. Her demise might have followed shortly.

I made a foolish mistake. It was not until I reached the twelfth floor that I began to sob.

It took much effort to haul me out of my bed for dinner.

It was loud during dinner-time. Effie and Peeta were conversing about Capitol televisions, Cinna and Portia were discussing fashion and Haymitch seemed to be getting lost in his whiskey.

I stared down at my plate. There was steak coated with an alcoholic marinade, a simple salad and a heap of salted mashed potatoes at its side. To drink there was an assortment of exotic-looking cocktails. Mine was strawberry.

I picked at the steak and sucked on the marinade. It was getting cold, but I had no intention on eating it. It's called being wasteful and unappreciative. If I were at home, I would have despised anyone who wasted their food.

_Home._

Primrose, Gale and mother. What did my being disruptive mean for them? Were they to be stocked, whipped or beheaded?

If, by any miracle, I did win, would I return home to find their corpses on my bed? Those thoughts consumed me wholly and left no space for self-consideration. I didn't bother to think of my fate. They were to put me to death anyway, why would they bother with worse punishment?

"So," Haymitch begins uncomfortably, "How do you think you scored?"

Peeta said, "I probably got a four, the gamemakers' were ignoring me and singing drinking songs."

"Did you even bother to make any kind of impression, boy?"

Peeta shrugged, "I just threw some heavy things around and camouflaged myself until they allowed me to leave."

Haymitch considered that, "That's somewhat decent, I suppose. Not the sort of thing that one would be flabbergasted by, though. What about you, sweetheart? Did you make an impression?"

"I shot an arrow at the gamemakers' roasted pig." I said.

"I beg your pardon?" Effie gasped.

"They were completely ignoring me. I had to make some kind of impression on them. I didn't want to get a low score."

The room was still. I couldn't even hear breathing.

Haymitch guffawed, breaking the horrifying silence.

I scowled, "You think this is funny? What if they hurt my family?"

"Calm down, sweetheart. They aren't going to _lynch_ your family. How would the publicity be? Something like that would reach the ears of the media. A star tribute's family killed blatantly without reason."

"The scores are being televised!" Effie sang, completely oblivious.

We all gathered round the television set and sit on the soft leather couches. I huddled in myself and watched the screen with anxious eyes. _There could be a more terrible fate that scoring zero_, I presumed.

One by one, scores flashed up in order of district. I noticed that all the Careers, except the District 4 boy, scored tens. So did the quiet boy from 11. To my surprise, Peeta received an 8. Effie Trinket was reasonably impressed, Haymitch was too.

I was next, I realised.

I looked at my face on the screen before I closed my eyes and gnawed on the inside of my cheek. I enclosed myself tighter in the warmth of my body, mustering as much strength as I possibly could. There wasn't any sound; no negative remarks, no clapping. There weren't even any sharp intakes of breath. There was just the uncomforting silence, drowning me in its harsh muteness.

Cautiously, I lifted my head and opened my eyes.

Eleven.

I scored an eleven out of twelve. No one has scored such a high number in the history of the Hunger Games. Slowly, I craned my head towards my prep-team and fellow tribute. They looked at me with curious eyes, demanding an explanation.

I had nothing to say to them. I could barely comprehend the issue myself. I pondered on the eleven. It was a curse. It meant more sponsors, but it also meant that I had just painted a bullseye on my chest. I was a threat to every tribute; especially the Careers. The thought of being killed by the District 2 brute was unacceptable.

I looked at Haymitch, trying to fish out a comment from him. He noticed my Seam eyes staring into his. "They like your anger, sweetheart. Maybe we can use that your advantage…"

* * *

The screaming was enough to put me on edge. I felt the cheers ringing through the air, lacing itself with the initial dread bubbling inside my stomach. The sky high above me was pitch-black, the florescent light fixtures lighting the area below it.

There I stood, in line for my interview with Caesar Flickerman. He dyed his hair each year for the Games. That year, his mane was powder blue, drawn back into a ponytail. His eyebrows and eyelashes were no exception from his annual dye. The powder blue was certainly more welcoming than the blood red the previous year, which was simply eerie.

The Careers were strong and vicious – as per usual – looking deviously at the camera with bone-chilling smirks and big, sneaky eyes. Glimmer was speaking confidently in a transparent gold gown. My main concern was the lethal male from Two – whose name's Cato, I've learnt. His angle was 'killing machine' and the crowd was soaking in his every word like sponges. He carried an air of arrogance with him and it made me shudder.

As my interview drew nearer, the more nervous I felt. My palms began to sweat and I felt the blood rushing to my temples. I asked one of the Avoxes to fetch me cold drinking water. I didn't drink it though, my hands rattled too much. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I tried to look on the bright side, Cinna had distinguished my jittering nerves and requested me to look at him every time I was asked a question because he was my friend. He told me that I should be as honest as possible.

Suddenly, I heard my name being called and felt a gentle nudge towards the stage. As I made my way to the stage, I looked at my reflection on the large screen.

My skin looked – and felt – like golden silk. My hair was in a braid with strands of red weaved through it. I was wearing a minimal amount of make-up. I was dressed in a glorious gown that was showered in gemstones of fiery reds, bright oranges, piercing white and vivid yellows with a few sapphire-blue gems in the mix.

I was far from pretty. I was not beautiful, either. I was as radiant as the sun.

I stumbled across the stage, aiming for the white suede chair, but not before shaking Caesar Flickerman's hand. The crowd roared my name with admiration. I looked out to see brief flashes of pinks, blues, greens and reds bobble around, demanding my attention. I didn't blow kisses or wave that day.

Gauchely, I sat down on the chair. Remembering Effie's rules of posture, I straightened my back.

Caesar took the seat beside me and I made sure to smile brightly. "So, Katniss, the Capitol must be a change from home. What's your favourite part of our great city?"

My tongue went dry and I my eyes frantically grazed the faces of Capitol people, in my haphazard search for Cinna. My eyes resting on him, I cleared my throat, "The lamb stew."

Caesar laughed. "The one with the plums?" I nodded. "Oh, I eat that by the bucketful. Turning to the audience in mock horror with a hand on his stomach, he asked, "It doesn't show does it?"

The crowd showered him with generous compliments. "Now, Katniss, when you came out at the ceremonies my heart actually stopped. What did you think of the costume?"

"You mean apart from the fear of being burnt to death?"

Caesar threw his head back and cackled. "Yes, apart from that, please."

Cinna was my friend and he deserved my honesty. "I thought that it was the most gorgeous thing and I couldn't believe that I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing_ this, _either!" I indicated to my dress. Cinna made a circular motion with his finger, motioning me to twirl.

I stood up and spun around several times, my arms spread out and the flames engulfing my body and I laughed. When I stopped, I received the most phenomenal response. Audience members were chanting, 'Girl on Fire' and clapping and cheering and throwing roses.

When I stopped, I fell into Caesar's arms, giggling. I've never giggled before! "Don't worry," he said, "I've got you." He led me to my chair before sitting down himself.

"Katniss, e-le-ven! Tell us more about that achievement!"

Addressing the Gamemakers, I said, "I think it was a first…" The cameras were on the Gamemakers, who nodded and chuckled.

"Then let's go back to when your sister was reaped and you volunteered. Can you tell us more about her?"

Absolutely not. They didn't deserve to know, but Cinna did. "Her name is Primrose, but I call her Prim. I love her more than anyone and anything."

I didn't know whether I was imagining the silence or not. "What did she tell you after the reaping?"

"S-she told me to try really hard to win for her. I swore I would." My eyes were getting glossy and even staring at the neon lights made a slight difference.

"I'm sure you did…" He said, just as the buzzer went off. "Best of luck to you, Katniss Everdeen,"

I didn't pay much attention to Peeta's interview at first. It was amusing, I suppose. Towards the end though, when Caesar brought up Peeta's 'love life', he'd seized my interest. I allowed my curiosity to know the boy with the best get the better of me.

Peeta hesitantly shook his head in an unconvincing manner.

"Come on, handsome lad like you… there must be some special girl, what's her name?" Caesar pushed.

"There's this one girl," Peeta began wearily; "I've been crushing on her for as long as I can remember, but barely knew I existed until the reaping."

Sympathetic sounds emitted from the crowd, they could relate to the unrequited love. "She has another bloke?"

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," Peeta explained.

"Here's what you do, you go out there and you win these Games. Then she'll have to go out with you!" Caesar grinned confidently.

"Winning won't help in my case…"

Caesar furrowed a powder blue eyebrow, "Why ever not?"

Peeta dithered, "Because she came here with me…"

For a moment everyone and everything was mute, people still deciphering his answer. Within seconds, cameras panned in my direction, zoomed on my paralyzed face. _'She came here with me…'_ the words echoed in my head when I realised that he meant me. Peeta Mellark, the boy who saved me and my family from starvation admitted that he fancied me.

My first reaction was that of any typical females: I blushed a burning pink shade.

Once again, the audience was at my mercy, chanting my name like a prayer, convincing Caesar to bring me in for another interview. He didn't of course, it was against the rules.

On the way to the Training Centre, I completely avoided Peeta's gaze, feeling bashful. The feeling of pure rage hit me when we reached the penthouse. I knocked him into a vase, clay crashing against marble floors. His hands bled. I spat out profanities at him until an arm hauled me away from the whimpering tribute. Haymitch pulled me to the side, explaining my new angle for the Games.

Afterwards, I apologised to Peeta (whose hands were wrapped securely in thin bandages) and Haymitch. They weren't too thrilled with me, but all was forgiven.

Effie held both Peeta and I's hands with tears dotting in her eyes. They made her violet eyes glisten. She told us that we were the best tributes she could have possibly wanted and that it was a privilege to sponsor us. And then, because it's her and she was required by the authorities to say it, she told us that she hopes to be bumped to a better district in the following year.

She scrambled away with a tissue after encasing us both in a monstrous hug. Haymitch instructed Peeta and I to veer away from the bloodbath at the Cornucopia and instead find refuge in the forests and trek for water. When I asked him for a final piece of advice, he responded with a stern, "_Stay alive_."

Only, I think he really meant it. Not just as a sarcastic rebuke, but as a sincere well-wishing.

* * *

The seconds lingered and all was still. I looked to the ceiling, seeking the comfort that I knew was unattainable.

I closed my eyes and reminisced about hunting with Gale, braiding Prim's soft gold hair and even those rare talks with my mother. I felt a tear, wet and salty, slip past my eyelids. My guard was gone; the stoic 'Fire Girl' persona vanished, leaving a scared, nostalgic girl in its wake.

I pulled off the blankets and silken sheets from my body. Placing my feet on the cool, tiled floor, I stood up and walked across the room. I twisted open the doorknob and quietly closed the door behind me.

The following day would be the day of the Games. There was no doubt I was unprepared. It made me feel weak. I didn't have a proper strategy, I didn't know what the arena looked like and I didn't even know whether I'd die in the bloodbath or not.

I made my way towards the rooftop garden, desperate for some air. Be it chemical-induced or not. Slipping past the glossy crystal doors, I heard the hail of the festivities seeping into my ears. I brushed past the curtains to see Peeta, seated along the ledge of the building, looking at the merry-making throng of people.

Slowly, I went to join him, maintaining a good balance along the ledge so I didn't fall.

"_Hunger_!" I heard. They screamed out silly phrases from the interviews and chanted out their preferred tributes names with glee. It was a disarray of voices.

I closed my eyes and shook my head at their asinine jamboree. They were rejoicing in the malignant competition that, at one point, held the key to my dignity, to my freedom, to my life. They relished in what chained me and bound me; what bound young, underprivileged children from living.

I looked at Peeta. He looked back with sorrow. I studied his face and found that there were rings circling his large eyes and a red nose. "You too?" He asked quietly. "You can't sleep, either?"

"No," I said.

We didn't talk, instead, we curiously scrutinized the Capitol people and their absurd fête. "Look at them!" I spat, feeling a dull anger poking through my skin. "They think that this is a big, jolly affair!"

He slammed his fist against the concrete. "I know this sounds stupid, but I just wish that I figure out a way to die as myself, not as the lovestruck-teen from District Twelve."

He was trying to maintain his identity, as any teenager would at sixteen, but the timing was all but impeccable to say the least. "You'll get yourself killed with that mind-set."

"Does it even matter? I've never even been a real contender in the Games. I'll go off into the woods and try to salvage what's left of my dignity."

"So you aren't going to kill anyone?"

"Of course I will when the time comes. I won't go out without a fight." To emphasise his point, he slammed his bandaged fist against the concrete, wincing. "I want to show them that I'm more than a piece in their Games."

"You're not though. None of us are."

He sighed. "Alright, fine. But beneath that, there's still you and there's me…do you get now?"

"Who cares?"

He rolled his eyes. "I care! Besides, at this point, is there even anything else to care about?"

"Then go and care about what Haymitch said about staying alive."

He smiled unhurriedly, jeering. "Well, thanks for the tip, _sweetheart_."

I was taken aback at the broken boy's tone. It was filled with mock and it felt like being backhandedly slapped across the cheek. "If you want to spend your final hours planning some kind of honourable demise, go ahead and do that. I'd spend mine back home…"

"No shock if you did. Tell my mother I said 'hello' when you get there."

I sprang up from my makeshift seat, treading heavily towards the crystal doors. "You can bet on it!"

I spent the rest of the night in a fitful sleep, jostling and turning, even rousing. I planned what I was going to say to taunt that menacing Peeta Mellark in the morning and how he'd go all mindless-barbarian in the arena, ripping apart tributes heads from their bodies after he's done with them.

* * *

The ride in the hovercraft is maddening. As each second passed on, everything seemed to linger longer and longer.

I stared out the window, looking at the phenomenal megalopolis beneath my very own feet. Even during the chilly hours of the dawn, it was illuminated by penetrating neon radiances. The cheery, glassy buildings seemed to shimmer gloriously under the bright luminosities. Flowers, glitter and candy-coloured ribbons were peppered across the long-winding streets, and even in the disarray, it held a sort of jubilant fascination that made me feel like I was something special.

My bliss was, however, short-lived. Soon, an obscuring shield penetrated my eyes and I was lost in a moment of murky, incomprehensible darkness. A fluorescent light flickered on and illuminated the steely, machine bird.

I glanced at Cinna, who presented me with a plate of food. "Eat up, you'll need your energy." To my surprise, it was a seemingly humble meal. It consisted of two slices of uncooked bread with shredded, dry chicken, raw cabbage, diced onion and tomato and even a few cool cucumber slices. It was served alongside an apple and a glass of freshly-squeezed, pulpy, somewhat salty orange juice.

I ate all of the delectable goods laid in front of me, despite the growing nausea and sweaty palms.

Shortly afterwards, a woman in a white coat entered the room, a large contraption with a fat, elongated needle in her gloved hand.

Wordlessly, she walked up towards me and instructed me to hold out my arm. "This is your tracker. I need you to be still, Katniss."

I stood motionless as the shiny, wide needle prodded through my epidermis, injecting a Nano-sized tracking device into my dermis. From then onwards, they were completely aware of my every movement. From each long stride to every huff of air, they knew exactly where I was and what I was doing.

Twenty-three minutes passed before the large, bulky hovercraft landed within the vast catacombs beneath the arena. Cinna and I were escorted through the spiralling underground passages – or as I like to call it, the knacker's yard – by three peacekeepers. We halted when we reached a white door. The peacekeepers retreated.

Cinna led me inside and closed the door. He made me take a shower. It wasn't like any of the fancy Capitol ones, just an average that had no more one (leaky) jet without any of the luxurious rich oils and gels. I dressed in durable attire, nothing extravagant: khaki trousers, green blouse and a thin black jacket. My feet were covered in skin-tight socks and soft, brown leather with a ductile, rubber sole adorned my feet.

Cinna bared the mockingjay pin that Madge gave and fastened it to my jacket. It gleamed against the dull fabric.

It was official then, I was physically prepared for the Games. "Does it fit properly? Can you move around in it?"

I nodded, "It fits perfectly."

We waited quietly until it was time for the launch to begin. Consoling me with stirring words, Cinna kissed me on my cheek and led me towards the launch pad.

I stood still on the metallic, grey disc, drowning in my own fear as a smooth-crystal tube encased me. It was then that the realisation dawned over me. There was a major possibility that I'd die in less than an hour. Cinna tapped on the glass and pushed his chin up with his fingers. Head held high.

* * *

I felt shock as the platform rose, slowly heaving me aloft. It took a minute before the plate had fully-risen from the glass cylinder. I breathed in the fresh, welcoming air of the pine trees and nearly fell from the platform when the harsh sunlight walloped me in the eyes. I was in the centre of thick forest foliage.

Smack in the middle of all the tributes was a seven-metres-high golden Cornucopia that shaded all the precious supplies. Swords, knives, spears and even a sheath of arrows were protected by the shell of the Cornucopia. There weren't only weapons in there, but also a vast amount of food, medicine and such necessities.

As the sixty seconds dwindled down I watched all my competitors with curious eyes, analysing their faces. I refused to look at Peeta, I was still angry.

Foxface's apathetic appearance filled me with envy. _That should be me!_ Thresh stared straight ahead at the gleaming gold of the Cornucopia, eying a sizable curved blade.

Marvel and Glimmer looked the same to me; both stanched to run as soon as the gong sounded, seemingly clueless of anything else. Clove's mouth arched wickedly, her fingers clenching and unclenching. She looked like she wanted to laugh.

The bird-like girl called Rue was pure and untainted; there wasn't any other way to describe her youthful face and petite stature. She was like an angel to me with her purity and poised, miniscule frame. Her eyes, however, held fear, amplifying in size as each second passed on.

Cato had a foul grin and his eyes – which seemed to shrink into slits – concentrated on the Cornucopia. His robust form was in prefect stance and his tapered fingers gathered into large fists, ready to strike a blow at the first tribute he collided with. If there was one thing I admired about him at the time it was that he appeared to be very vigilant.

His eyes settled upon my spry frame and he leered at me, a scowl emerging on his face as quickly as it left. Then, his lips stretched out, fashioning a smile that could only be classified as malignant. I gulped, feeling exposed. _No! _I told myself, _I can't show him my weakness_. With wavering confidence, I managed to muster a seething glare. I thought it must have looked unsettling: a gangly thing like me trying to scare a Career with her sharp eyes and flaring nostrils.

I began to feel slightly distressed and finally, fixed my eyes on the metal sheath, crammed with titanium arrows and the iron bow which lied alongside it. It tempted me with its magnificence and the way it sparkled and glittered iridescently in the intense, synthetic sunlight. I was briefly reminded of the predicament in the training centre, my fingers burning madly to grasp the archery tools.

If I sprinted to retrieve my arrows, I would have successfully done so without much hassle. Running out though, that would have been an issue. Then again, I was the fast runner at my school, so I would fare well. Besides, if Haymitch had seen me run back home, he'd have approved of my dashing into the action for the arrows that would prove to be my deliverance.

I felt a pair of eyes on me and whipped around to see Peeta's eyes trained on me, giving me a disapproving shake of the head and an objecting stare. I was livid. First he argued with me – well, I argued with him – and then he wanted to tell me how to live the last few moments of my life. I shot him a glare and tried to decipher why I cared about his rejecting glances.

The gong had sounded an ugly, shrill tone and instructed us to fight for our lives. Peeta had cost me few precious moments. If I had those moments I would have been able to collect the bow and arrows.

If there was anything I knew then, it was that running into the forest was the only thing that would allow me to survive. So I did just that. I ran.

In the wrong direction.

In my haste, I carelessly snatched on a thin sheet of plastic because it was better than being empty-handed. The colour orange flashed in my eye as I caught site of a vivid, carrot-coloured rucksack. I dashed in its general direction of the pack, hoping it to be of some use. Just as I clutched onto the leathery strap, I found myself grappling for it with the boy from District Nine. He was winning until he began to cough blood on me. He collapsed on grassy terrain and I fell with him.

As I sat up, I looked up to see Clove from District Two train a cruel knife at me. I half-scurried, half-crawled, but I was too slow. In a moment of impact – which seemed to be happening a lot, at the time – I hoisted myself up and sprinted for the promising woods. I could hear Clove's dagger slicing through the air, hurtling towards my head. I've seen her during training she never missed. My heart was thrashing against my rib cage with all the exhilaration. I brought the rucksack to shelter to the back of my head to shelter me from the lethal girl's blades. It landed with a thwack on the bright orange fabric.

When I cleared enough distance from the Cornucopia, I wedged the dagger out of the rucksack and seized it in my hand, clenching it as I ran further and further into the forest.

My new home.

* * *

_**I really wanted to get to the Games. From here on out, most of what you read will be a brand-new experience. Everything will be unexpected and we can go from dead to breathing in the blink of an eye. We can go from laughing to screaming in nanoseconds. But we cannot go to from loathing to loving in a few short chapters. I will manipulate these characters to my imagination. Of course, it will be in character and as believable as possible  
CATONISS WILL BE GRADUAL. I can't make them kiss soon! I need to create tension and build it up! And about the lack of Catoniss, It's impossible to get my hands dirty at this stage. This is the build-up. And the build-up is almost over. If I made them even ally at this stage, it could blow my plans. But I will lace Cato in Katniss' thoughts. As loathe.**__**  
**__**NOW REVIEW. Or I'll Avada Kedavra you people. Reviews make me smile! You get blessings for making a person smile! Reviews mean a hell of a lot to me, fellow authors please understand that. I will only update with the minimum of 8 (EIGHT) reviews per chap.**_

_**PLEASE REVIEW, I SPENT TWO MONTHS TRYING TO PERFECT THIS CHAPTER**_


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